As the pit comes within sight, Wrenne slows down. Herndel walks ahead of her and approaches the guard, another man than when she freed Linder. After a brief exchange, the guard accompanies the hallowman back to her. Herndel meets her eyes and nods, while the guard, squinting against the sun, studies her with what might be suspicion, curiosity or both. She shrugs him off and walks towards the pit.

The other times she came here - was it only yesterday? - she paid no attention to the surroundings, too busy first fretting at the realisation that they must have caught the wrong witch, then making and acting out new and hasty plans for amending that. Now she takes her time to study the place closely, dragging her feet a little over the last stretch.

The pit is dug out in a rocky, gentle slope rising towards the hilly woodland beyond. Her long shadow slowly advances before her, leaping up rocks and boulders and smoothly merging with the darkness lingering in the pits. It must have been hard work to dig in this soil, poor for crops, not useful for much else. A great pile of jumbled rocks to the side must be ones pried loose from the clenching ground in the making of the pit. They also help to prop up the crane for the great bear cage. The thought strikes her that she might have to figure out how to use that and hope it's not too heavy with Brun in the cage. Then she is at the edge of the pit and looks down.

The depth of it is unimpressive, no more than an ell on top of a fathom. If it weren't for the sturdy wooden grating pegged and locked to the ground with tough iron loops, and of course the guard, anyone inside could easily escape. Well, perhaps not very easily, Wrenne thinks as she notices that the walls lean slightly inwards. A faint scent of past uncleanliness rises out of it, like a long used but long disused privy.

She turns her attention to the unmoving forms at the bottom. The great one curled about the slight one. If they are aware of her presence, they make no sign. Arkteia's face is buried in Brun's furry neck, her arms wrapped around the bear's head, Brun's great forelegs around her body like a mother's arms around a huddled, disconsolate child. None of them is bound - Herndel told her in hushed tones, on their way to the pit, about how they simply kept Arkteia down in the pit with spears while lowering Brun down, net and all. After that, none dared get close enough to bind any of them.

A last glance over the shoulder tells Wrenne that Herndel and the guard are far enough not to hear her. She cannot make out their faces against the rising sun, but gives them a smile filled with all the confidence she cannot feel. Then she draws a deep breath and kneels at the edge of the pit.

"Arkteia!" she whispers. "Brun!" At first they do not harken to her quiet call. As she softly calls their names again, Brun's ears twitch and Arkteia raises her head, squinting against the morning sky. Wrenne gives them a little wave. "It's me, Wrenne! I am here!"

At those words, Arkteia springs to her feet while Brun rolls over and shakes herself while gaining her feet. "Wrenne!" Arkteia exclaims and Wrenne hastily hushes her.

"The hallowman and the guard are not far away. They mustn't know I know you! I've told them that the Herder has told me to talk to you and make you forswear your witchcraft."

"You what?" Arkteia frowns and shakes her head. "And they believed you?"

Wrenne shrugs. "At least they believe that I believe it. I guess they saw no harm in letting me try. But they're bound to be watching me in case you'd put a spell on me. I've told them I've got a horseshoe that I found at a crossroads at midnight to protect me, so I'm not afraid."

Arkteia snorts.

"You have a horseshoe?"

"From outside the tavern stable, yes. But..."

"I still don't understand it," Arkteia insists. "Did they really..."

"Look," Wrenne cuts her off impatiently, "I'm not only good at playing seductive. I can play innocent, too." There is genuine acid in Wrenne's voice at those two words - seductive and innocent. Words that men use for their idea of what a woman is. Ideas that can be used as weapons against them, too, but at a high price. "If you play innocent well enough and ask insistently enough," she continues with a sneer, "there's a long way you can push them to get what you want."

"But..."

"Look, it worked," Wrenne hisses, "and there are more important matters to discuss, yes?"

Arkteia still frowns but relents. "I suppose so."

Wrenne nods, relieved to have passed that threshold but aware that it's still there. "Good. Now, what went wrong? I lured the guard away, but now you are here and Linder is gone. What happened?"

Arkteia is silent for a moment, looking down into the still deep shadows at the bottom of the pit. Wrenne wonders if she still doubts Wrenne's story, close enough though it is to the truth. Then she seems to make up her mind and looks up again.

"When I had opened the grating and called out to Linder, she did not move nor reply. I believed she was senseless, so I climbed down. But it was only a bundle of rags there, and then the grating slammed shut over me. I called out, and then Brun came for me, but suddenly out of hiding a great many men sprang up and they trapped her with their net. So here we are now. It doesn't seem they got Tirisi, though."

She looks up, her eyes teeming with unreadable doubts. "How did they know? I thought they must have followed you and heard or guessed our plan, moved Linder elsewhere after the guard left. Yet they let you come here and talk to me. You say they mustn't know that we know each other. Are you sure they don't know already? That you're walking into a trap, too?"

Wrenne falls silent. This turn of their talk she has not foreseen and she curses herself for it. Not knowing how she gained the hallowman's trust by helping him catch a witch, it is a fair conclusion for Arkteia to draw that they have other reasons for letting Wrenne near the prisoner. Reasons that would put Wrenne at great risk, much greater than the real and still great risk she is indeed taking. On the other hand, that conclusion might only serve her all the better...

"It's possible as you say," she begins slowly, "that they've overheard me. But where? At Ma Crowth's cottage? Wouldn't Brun notice?" Brun grunts assent, or at least it sounds so to Wrenne. "And I really haven't been talking to myself about it," she goes on. "No, they must have guessed that the bear would come to rescue. But still, they removed Linder..."

She grumbles to herself. "You may be right that they suspect me and if so, I am in danger. But I still think I have the hallowman fooled. ANyway, I think I can outwit them, if a trap it is. I think I can get you out of here."

"Both of us?"

"Well..." Wrenne draws it out, as if in doubt. "I think so. Yes."

Arkteia draws a sharp breath. "Would you do that for us? Run that risk?"

"Well..." This time, her doubt is real. It's about time to teach Arkteia that everything comes with a price in this world. Perhaps even friendship, if such a thing there be outside of dreams and delusions. How will the bear woman respond to that?

Pushing doubt aside, she brings the whole thing to its point. "If I help you, I will expect you to help me."

Arkteia falls silent and still as a stone. At last she makes a faint reply. "You mean... with revenge?"

"Not as such. I don't think you could, really. No, I mean with power." Wrenne feels her heart wrench as she can feel her redemption just outside her grasp. In the hands of this trapped woman. Speaking becomes hard as she feels her dry throat constricting, but Arkteia makes no sound so she swallows hard and clears her throat. She barely recognises her voice, dark and husky, as she finally finds it again. "I want an ally and powers such as you have. I need them! Those sisters you talked about back there might talk to me, give me..." She has to close her eyes and breathe deeply before she finds the right words. "Give me what I need to be someone again."

Arkteia makes a noise that is half a groan, half a sob. Brun lumbers forward as she steps back, fumbling for support. Then the bear woman sinks to her knees, hands clenching her ally's fur. She raises her tear-streaked face towards Wrenne. "You want to turn to the sisters for power? Oh Wrenne, can't you see the power you carry all in your own right? You do not need the sisters!"

"Power?" Wrenne has to keep a bitter laugh down lest the watching men hear it. "I have power? Well, if I do, it is the power to destroy myself, not to struggle against fate." She shakes her head. "So you were raped. I was too, first. But then, do you know what? I raped myself. I gave myself away freely. Just to stay alive, to stay free. That's all the power I have."

"No, Wrenne! There is another way..."

"With you? Hiding away in a valley? By your mercy, under your power?" She clutches at the grating, leaning down, boring into Arkteia with her eyes. "That will never be my way. I don't want to be saved. I have to save myself. Redeem myself. You said my way would be just another way to be a slave. No. Following your way, under your wings, would make me your slave."

She realises she is baring her teeth, growling, and struggles to compose herself. Slowly, it dawns on her that all the carefully chosen words she planned are forgotten, unsaid. As she realises what words came unbidden in their stead, she blushes and looks away.

For a short while, silence enfolds them both, filling the pit between them like a darkness that not even midsummer sun would dispel. When Arkteia speaks again, it is in a voice like ancient stones dragged from afar to raise a monument to desperation. "I have said before that you know not what you ask. You do not talk to the sisters, they talk to you. And if they see you, they will offer you a bargain. But the price will not be what you think. It will seem like something you want. Then you will realise that it costs you more than you are willing to pay. By then it will be too late."

Wrenne's eyes are drawn back to Arkteia's, unable to resist although she knows that the windows on her desolation are wide open. She meets it with the wasteland of her own. Let it bite. Let it freeze.

"You say you raped yourself," Arkteia continues. "You gave them your body, thinking that it was no longer worth anything. Is it not so?" Wrenne can only nod. Arkteia nods once, slowly, in recognition, and continues. "And now you want to do the same thing to your soul?"

Wrenne's eyes widen at Arkteia's words, a dead echo of the storm that ravaged that inner land of hers. Rape your own soul?

As if scorched by red-hot iron, she jerks her gaze away and closes her eyes, shivering. Her thoughts seem frozen, petrified. Perhaps she should step back, get Arkteia and Brun out of there for friendship alone, become her follower. A follower of no more than ordinary powers. Defiled but patched up, propped up. Weak but free.

No, she silently yells at herself. You have come too far now to turn away. It cannot be that bad. Or if you have powers of your own, as Arkteia says, who says it cannot be different for you than for her?

She cannot look at Arkteia as she braces herself to speak again. The final words. "I hear you. But I still want to talk to the sisters. I help you, you help me."

Brun hums softly and Arkteia seems to hum back. Then she talks again and Wrenne can hear that the shutters of her eyes are closed again. Young as it is, her voice sounds weary but kind like a grandmother's.

"What you ask for is not what I call help. But we can tell that your mind is set. Come back at noon and I will give you an answer."

As Wrenne stumbles away from the pit, Herndel and the guard hurry up to offer her their supporting hands, but she waves them off and they draw back, knowing neither what to say nor do.

"So much pain in her," Wrenne mutters absently to the distraught hallowman. "Almost more than I can stand. But I think I'm reaching her. I will come back at noon."

She barely makes it over the threshold to the back chamber before Linder is upon her with a barrage of questions. "Where were you? What happens? When can we..."

Wrenne muffles her with her hand, shooting wild looks at Linder and then behind herself. "I have been talking to the hallowman, he is right outside so no need to worry, my dear. We're still safe. But you really must rest some more."

Linder first tries to break free from the silencing hand, but quiets down at the mention of the hallowman. Wrenne can see that the message has penetrated her frenzy and removes her hand just in time as Herndel knocks on the half closed door and asks leave to enter. Wrenne pushes the door wide open with her foot and beckons him inside with one hand, while with the other she takes Linder by the elbow. "Do come! The poor girl is still under the spell I believe, she is so confused. Oh, it must be so hard on you, poor little one!"

Wrenne stares hard at Linder all the while, eyebrows furiously knotted, willing her to remember her role as the victim of sorcery. She can see her mouth close, see her swallow and her lips begin to tremble. That's no acting, Linder has no such skill, she truly is confused although under no spell save what Wrenne's artful deceit can conjure.

It is enough for now, though. Linder lets herself be led to the little bed and tucked in. Wrenne sits down beside her, leaning down to gently kiss her forehead while whispering softly to her, too soft for the words to reach Herndel. "As soon as he's away, I'll tell you everything."

Linder nods with a forced smile and clutches Wrenne's hand. "Don't desert me," she whispers back.

Wrenne smiles and pats her cheeks, while a little part of her is jumping up and down inside her head, gnashing its teeth and screaming wordlessly, sick to the bone of this never-ending charade. Then she wriggles her hand out of Linder's grasp, rises and walks slowly out of the chamber after Herndel.

Once the door is closed, he clears his throat, his eyes fixed on the altar, his voice a little unsteady. "I have to leave you for a while. My brother needs my help at the farm." He chuckles a little although the mirth seems to catch in his throat. "My brother is a masterful farmer, but repair work is not his greatest strength and I have been a little neglectful of late. I will be back before noon and bring some food for the two of you."

Then he turns at last towards her. To her surprise, he bows deeply. When he straightens up and she meets his eyes, she can see tears streaming from them. Tears for poor Linder, she assumes. Then she realises that her own are burning with dry tears as well, although for an altogether different reason.

How much longer, she wonders as she watches the hallowman walk out of the temple, can I keep this up before I lose my mind?

Her fingers dig deeply into the thick fur and catch a firm hold. Beneath the fur, powerful muscles are working like a smith's hammer. Wind rushes in her face, soothing and jubilant at the same time. The ride is so fast!

Now it leaves the ground. The bear - is it Brun or another? - is rushing through the air, bounding up the sides of towering clouds, leaping from spire to lofty spire. When she looks down, a hole opens in the clouds and far, far down, she sees a face turned upwards. A livid face, hollow eyes staring at her, toothless mouth gaping.

It is Arkteia's face.

She wants to call out to her, but her mouth doesn't open. Then she goads her steed downwards. Perhaps it can carry them both into the sky. But the rush of the wind becomes too strong and she loses her hold on the fur. The bear is whisked away from her, whirling into the clouds and out of sight. She is free falling towards Arkteia, who is reaching for her, as if to catch her although her speed is too great, they will both be crushed and now her mouth works again, screaming, but all that comes out of it is a howl like a forlorn wolf's...

She hits the floor still howling, but the sound has become no more than a pitiful whimper. Still alive. The ground is smooth wooden boards, the light is dim in the windowless chamber. Her forehead aches and she brings her hands up, rubbing it gently with a grimace. A movement by the wall catches her attention. She squints and tries to focus.

Linder. Right. She had to catch up on some of her lost sleep, and Linder was watching over her this time, with the instruction to wake her if she heard the hallowman returning.

Her stricken eyes seem to wait for Wrenne to do something. Better take charge again, then. "Thanks for watching over me."

Linder makes no reply but lowers her eyes to the floor.

"I had a bad dream," Wrenne says just to break the silence. "I dreamt that I was falling... and then I fell out of bed. Isn't that silly?" She attempts a friendly giggle but winces at how it comes out. Linder draws the corner of her mouth a little and shrugs. She is holding something close to her chest. "What have you got there?"

Linder hesitates, then opens her hand. It is a piece of charcoal. "I got it from a brazier in the temple hall. There have been people coming and going all morning in the hall," she adds defiantly, "but I snuck out when it was empty."

Wrenne regards her quizzically. Charcoal?

"Well, I had to do something to keep myself busy or I would have just had to run away. I hate being stuck in here, you know."

Wrenne is none the wiser. "Do... what?"

Linder stares at her, then glances at the floor. "I'll wash it away before he comes back. There's water in the jug, I just need a rag..."

On the floor, there is a drawing. A large, detailed drawing. A bear.

Wrenne gapes. Brun. Linder has caught the bear in mid-leap and it is a tremendous likeness. For a moment, Wrenne seems to see herself on the back of the bear, hearing the rush of wind in her ears and her falling howl... She shivers and then shakes herself back to reality.

"Don't wash it away," she says earnestly. "It's amazing. And it's only fitting for a woman under the spell of a..." She catches herself in time. She hasn't told Linder about who is supposed to be the witch under whose spell she is supposed to be. The bear witch...

"I mean," she finishes lamely, "that a farmgirl could draw something like that must seem like witchcraft to the unenlightened."

This time, both corners of Linder's mouth are angled ever so slightly upwards, just for a moment. "You like it? I like drawing with charcoal but the others always sneered at it."

Wrenne shakes her head. "You really have talent, Linder. I wish I could make something so beautiful."

They remain silent for a moment, admiring the drawing on the floor together. Then they hear the small door of the temple opening again. Rapid steps approach the door and they both freeze. A timid knock.

"Come in!" Wrenne calls.

The door opens and Herndel peeks through with a shy grin. "I brought some food, as well as a little table and some stools. The day is lovely. Will you take the meal outside? This chamber must be terribly stuffy to you."

Wrenne and Linder look at each other. Linder looks hopeful, but Wrenne can feel her stomach tightening at the thought of sitting out there, in full view of anyone who might pass by. Anyone who might expose the truth about her...

"I think it's safer to stay within the temple walls", she says. "Until the spell has worn away. She should be protected here."

She winks to Linder, who sighs and looks away without protesting. Herndel's grin subsides.

"Yes, I guess you are right," he agrees, a little crestfallen. "Let us hope it will be soon."

"Yes," Wrenne agrees, not letting Linder go with her eyes, "it should be soon. It has to be."

After a brief meal in subdued spirits, Wrenne takes Linder aside, whispering. "I have to go away and talk a little more to the hallowman. Hopefully we can leave tonight. Can you promise me to stay inside? You can draw all you like on the floor!"

Another sigh. "I promise," she mutters and turns away, shuffling towards the chamber, shoulders drooping. She stoops to grab a couple of new charcoal pieces from the pot underneath the glowing brazier. Wrenne follows her with the eyes.

"I'll be back as soon as I can!" she calls after the silent back, putting what brittle cheer she can muster into her voice. There is no reply and then the door closes. Slowly, she turns away and walks over to Herndel, who is waiting by the small door, shaking his head.

"The poor girl. You really do care for her."

Wrenne holds that thought at arm's length. She does not wish to think about whether or not Herndel is right. "I feel responsible for her," she says simply. That much, at least, is true.

When they once more approach the bear pit, they hear voices raised in jeers and coarse and shrill laughter. And then they see the little crowd that has gathered around the pit, old and young, men and women, come to gloat over the captive, humiliate her. Wrenne feels her bile rising. She had forgotten about this part. A witch's punishment does not wait for judgement to be passed.

"Make them go away," she hisses to Herndel. "Now! I can't..." She breathes hard through her nose, trying to gather her wits. Herndel nods vigorously. "I can't talk to her in front of them," she continues. "Oh, make them leave! They are undoing everything!"

"I will try," Herndel says.

"No!" Wrenne snarls. "You must do it, not try. But you mustn't tell them about me, about what I'm doing. It would ruin everything."

"My dear Ardele, I wouldn't tell them about it anyway," Herndel assures. "They wouldn't understand. I barely understand it myself. That a witch could repent and be forgiven!" He shakes his head. "Leaving the flock is treason enough, but a witch is nothing but a wild beast preying on the flock. A vicious predator that must be mercilessly hunted down. Thus says the lore. And yet the idea of forgiveness is appealing to me."

He faces her squarely, raising his hands towards her shoulders but leaves them hanging in the air, still not daring to touch her. "You have opened my eyes, Ardele. I will begin a great task when you are gone, in your name and your honour, to work the idea of forgiveness into the lore. Revenge isn't everything!" He lowers his arms again and turns towards the crowd, sighing. "It will take such time. Perhaps I will fail. May the Herder bless me with many good years of health so that I can travel along this path that you have shown me."

His words leave Wrenne speechless. She wants to urge him on to disperse the crowd, but the words stick in her throat. Then he walks on, his jaw set and his eyes ablaze.

How did this come to pass?

She sees him stepping before them, raising his hands, commanding their attention. Chiding them for neglecting their daily chores to come and waste their precious time on childish gloating over a wretch in a pit. Most squirm and hang their heads, then drop off one by one or two by two. A few hang on, trying to defend themselves, but Herndel is adamant. At the last, two men remain, a slight but sinewy one in garish clothes and a boy barely old enough to be a man, with blonde, curly hair and a well cut tunic. They leer at Herndel, turning his words with silly arguments until at last he beckons the tythingman on guard, who is lounging by the rock pile with a wry grin on his face. The man heaves to his feet, steps slowly towards the malcreants, brandishing his club and yelling at them to do as they're told. The two men finally give up, shrug and move away laughing, obviously pleased with their antics.

As they pass close by Wrenne, she can see the eyes of the younger one. Cold eyes, almost dead, without an ounce of pity. The eyes of a wolf. She shrinks back and for once is grateful for her headscarf, pulling it lower over her forehead. The boy notices, winks and blows a kiss in her direction before sauntering on along with his companion. She draws her lips back and spits after him, while her inner eye is looking wistfully at the pear tree and its handy branches.

Then she almost jumps and stifles a yelp as Herndel speaks beside her. "Those two... how I wish they would just leave the village and go pester somebody else. Some people..." He shakes his head with his lips drawn in disgust. "Well, the crowd is gone. I told the guard to leave you alone as well. He didn't seem to want to at first, but I guess he realised I was fed up with people talking back."

"You were impressive," Wrenne says and realises that she really means it. "Thank you."

He actually blushes at that, but she is too weary and tense to be amused. Without further words, she leaves him and walks for the third time towards the pit, while the guard reluctantly ambles the other way.

At this time of the year, the shadows at the bottom of the pit are not lifted even by the splendid but low noon sun. Though the darkness is somewhat lesser, a deep gloom still enfolds the two figures down below. Brun tramps back and forth across the narrow floor, making mewling grunts between attempts at cleaning herself from the mess of spoiled fruit and vegetables she has been pelted with. Whenever she brushes past Arkteia, she takes a lick at her as well, removing some little scrap from her ruined clothes or sullied hair.

Arkteia, on the other hand, makes no movement even when the bear tongue laps at her. Her face is already passably clean, but she doesn't even seem to notice rinds and peels, juice and ooze that hangs and drips from all sides of her. She is sitting on her knees, hands in her lap, eyes fixed on some nondescript point on the wall of earth and stone before her.

For a moment, a burning thought shoots unbidden through Wrenne's mind. I will get her out of there whether or not she yields. It is followed seamlessly by another, as ferocious as the first. No! She must yield or it will all have been in vain!

With a deep breath, she blows both thoughts away and tries to summon her wits and her voice to turn fate in her favour. Kneeling, she clears her throat quietly.

"It is noon."

Again, Arkteia makes no sign of having heard her, but Brun stops short, raises her head to peer and sniff. Then she makes the same whistling noise through her nose as when first they met, and walks over to Arkteia to stand around her, staring intently at Wrenne. Only then Arkteia moves, raising her hand to Brun's neck and resting her forehead against the furry cheek.

Still she doesn't speak. Though she itches to ask for her answer, Wrenne keeps quiet, trusting neither her voice nor Arkteia's good will. When at last she speaks, the words are muted, toneless as from someone beyond caring, but Wrenne still hears them crystal clear.

"I have spoken to the sisters. They will be delighted to talk to you."

The words make Wrenne's heart turn a somersault in her chest, but she has no time to relish their meaning before Arkteia continues.

"I am not surprised, after what they told me."

This time, Wrenne can feel her heart sink rather than leap. She opens her mouth but her tongue seems tied and her mouth as dry as dust. Yet Arkteia is quiet again, unmoving, revealing nothing further. When at last Wrenne manages to utter the words, they come out shrill and rasping. "Told you what?"

Arkteia finally raises her head and meets Wrenne's eyes. "Everything."

It seems to Wrenne that the brilliant sunlight suddenly fails and a great wind rushes about her, as if a storm has risen out of nowhere. She seizes hold of the grating with both hands to keep herself from being swept away. The world turns dark about the edges of her vision, all she can see is Arkteia's eyes. In them, the shutters are open, unhinged, gone, and the desolation beyond shrieks at her. That must be where the storm comes from.

They have told her everything.

"Then you hate me now."

A shadow of a smile flits past Arkteia's lips, not touching her winter eyes. "Oh Wrenne, how little you know me. I do not waste time nor strength on hating. Your tale rouses no hate in me. Pity, perhaps. Awe, indeed. But most of all sorrow. Sorrow and guilt."

Guilt? Wrenne shakes her head in disbelief. "Then you will not help me?"

Arkteia finally releases Wrenne from her turmoil and looks back at the wall of the pit. "I made a bargain with them, though I swore never to do so again. What choice is there? My part of the bargain is to lead you to a place where you may find them. I still wouldn't call that help, but it is what you asked for." Slowly, the world returns around Wrenne with sunlight and still, crisp air. Arkteia continues. "Their part is to make sure that you free both of us from this trap of yours, and that you will never betray us again."

Wrenne seizes the bars of the grating firmly and leans forward, seeking Arkteia's eyes with her own. "I swear I will not!"

Arkteia chuckles mirthlessly at Wrenne's hoarse pledge. "I never thought you would mean to, Wrenne, having gotten what you want. But you are setting yourself in Their service. It is Them I do not trust."

Not sure of whether that is a relief or not, Wrenne bites her lip in silence. Then Arkteia speaks on.

"You must seek out Ma Crowth at once. She has left her cottage, fearing more treason. You will find her and Tirisi in another shieling, a little further away from the village than the one where Linder was caught. If you can, take Linder with you when you go. When you find Ma Crowth, ask her to give you the fire thing she offered me last night. She will understand. Tell her not to expect me until after the full moon. Then bring what she gives you to me, tonight as the moon sets. It will be only a few hours before dawn with the moon so near full, so we will not have a long time under cover of darkness. I know you still have the sleeping potion she gave you, use it on the guard and open the grating with his key once he's asleep. And finally, make sure to find out where they keep my bow and quiver. Now leave us."

Arkteia's final words are like a castle gate slamming shut, leaving no way to say the words that rush through Wrenne's mind. Just as well, her tongue would never have been able to catch hold of them anyway. She rises slowly, brushes her knees, shivers and turns away. As she walks back towards Herndel, her heart is heavy but her head light with elation. She will have power.

She will be the Merciless Hunter after all.